


In Between

by SpaceKase



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Murder, Discussion of mental illness, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Multi, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, canon character death(s), it happened in canon but it DOES get mentioned and discussed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceKase/pseuds/SpaceKase
Summary: Events that occurred between the end of Sal Fisher's trial and his execution, as recalled by one Ashley Campbell.





	In Between

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this the night after The Trial was released. I just had SO many thoughts...SO many feelings.
> 
> One of them being intense love for my girl Ash. 
> 
> I realize a lot of the fandom hates her; while I was writing this, I realized that having her blow up at Larry, the fan favorite, would probably not help endear her to those fans. 
> 
> At the time I was writing that, though, I thought it made sense. So, uh...take it for what it is? *shrugs*
> 
> As always, I've done my best to tag any and all potentially triggering material, but if I've missed anything, please let me know.
> 
> Enjoy! And if you didn't, please let me know why.

"That's why." 

Ashley can't stop staring. Sal is looking at the cuffed hands in his lap. 

"I _had_ to." Sal's voice is so soft, she can barely hear it. "I had to do it to... _all_ of them..."

The hairs at the back of her neck prickle. He sounds like he's just realized something important; something heavy. 

He finally looks up. She hasn't seen him as often as she would have liked this past year, but she can still read him eerily well, even when he's got his face on. 

"I did it." Sal is practically whispering now; the only reason she can hear him is because the rest of the room is silent. You can hear a pin drop right now. " I killed them all. I'm guilty."

Her heart sinks. She means to say something to that, but at those words, everyone starts murmuring at once. She's forced to be silent when the judge bangs his gavel.

Ashley's heart continues to sink as Sal's state-mandated therapist says, coolly and calmly, that Sal is of perfectly clear mind and was fully aware of what he was doing that horrible night. Her protests against his 'Guilty' verdict go unheard. 

_This isn't how it's supposed to go_ , she keeps thinking as everything picks up in speed around her.

Visiting Day at the prison always takes too long to come around. 

The very minute Ashley is capable, she wraps her arms around Sal as tight as they'll go. 

It's unbearably sad, how quietly and gently he'll huddle up to her. After all this time, he's still so much smaller than her.

She wants to wrap him up in blankets, give him something hot and soothing to drink, and place him somewhere secluded and safe; somewhere comforting and warm. She'd take care of him; she'd hold him close when he cried and murmur sweet nothings in his ear when he talked about all that worried and frightened him. 

As it stands, these cold, blank walls will have to do for now. 

"Your hair's getting longer," Sal tells her. 

Ash brushes her hair behind her ears and gives him a tight smile. "Yeah; guess so. Haven't really had time to cut it lately. School's gotten in the way."

It's a half-truth. Ashley is pretty sure Sal knows it, too; he might not have been the prodigy that Todd was, but he's always been the smart one in their group. He's always been able to tell when she's lying. 

She misses Todd. He still won't let anyone near him.

"You haven't been sleeping, either." He points at her eyes, which she knows deep, dark bags are under. She must almost look like Larry, before...

"Haven't been able to," she admits. Ashley's been busy. It isn't just school or family matters...there's been more to this case than meets the eye from the very start. 

She's been fueled by coffee, energy drinks, curiosity, and determination since the trial. There just _has_ to be something she's missed... _something_ that can help her friend out of this horrible situation.

Todd is institutionalized, violent, and suicidal; a far cry from the sweet, talkative nerd who'd been her best friend through middle and high school. Sal keeps insisting that Larry is dead; that he killed himself. The meltdown she'd walked in on him having after she'd gotten that call hadn't led her to believe otherwise, even if Larry's body hadn't been found among the others. 

Ashley is the only one left. She'd been trying to _help_ when she'd called the police; she's the one who got Sal in here, and now she's the only one who can help him get out.

"How's Ben?"

She doesn't _want_ to talk about Ben; she doesn't want to talk about _any_ of her family members. They're all alive and well; the last family death she experienced was her grandma's.

Sal has _no_ family left. His stepbrother and best friend killed himself; he killed his father and stepmother. He's admitted to it himself; it doesn't matter that, if even a single word he's spoken is true, he had a good reason for it. The only one who got out of all of this unscathed is his cat.

But he asked, and Ashley supposes it's only polite if she answers. 

"He's good," she says. "Middle school's going kind of rough for him, but that's not really surprising, right? It's rough for everyone."

Sal manages to laugh. His hair, which she's always loved for being so thick and fluffy, is now oily and hanging around his prosthetic in long thin strings. That poor mask has clearly seen better days; it looks like he's been recycling pieces of tape in order to keep it together. Whatever positive emotions he has, he's clearly faking: she sees absolutely no joy or humor in his left eye. 

"Yeah; it was rough for _me._ "

She manages a weak smile. "Maybe you could put that in your autobiography."

"Please. The only people who'd buy an autobiography from...someone like _me_...are people I don't really _want_ listening to me. You know?"

That hurts. It _all_ hurts. Ashley suspects she should be bawling right now, but for whatever reason, she just can't. 

There's a part of all this that still doesn't feel real. It reminds of her of the time she'd tagged along with her boys on one of their ghost hunts; she'd wound up witnessing her first dead body and the remains of several others. A pile of them had saved her life by cushioning her fall; she'd spent hours in the shower afterwards, trying to get the blood and bone matter and the smell of Mrs. Packerton's apartment out of her hair. 

She'd finally decided to cut it this year.

"You wouldn't _believe_ the letters I get in here." Sal is still talking. "There's the usual ones calling me a monster, but a lot of it is... _fan mail_. People who say they're in _love_ with me..." Ashley doesn't miss the shudder than runs through Sal's shoulders. "They don't let us have anything flammable in here, obviously; otherwise I'd have set a lot of them on fire." There's a part of him that's still trying to keep things lighthearted. Ashley _wants_ to appreciate that, but she can tell his heart isn't actually in it. She's certainly in no mood to try to entertain him into faking it. 

"Speaking of...that mill caught fire again," she tells him. "I think it might be related to...you know. Things." 

All that Ashley can hear right now is the conversations of Sal's fellow inmates and their own loved ones. 

"You went there, didn't you?" Sal is so quiet when he says that. 

Ashley sighs. "Yes. I have." Sal might not be good at lying, but he's a pro at telling when others are lying to him. There's no point in trying it. 

"You're still looking into this?"

"Of _course_ I am, Sal." Maybe she sounds angry right now. She doesn't mean to; she isn't angry at _Sal_. She's angry at everything else; these circumstances, the universe, her own ineptitude. _Everything._ "I'm not giving up until you're out of here." She puts a hand on one of his cuffed ones. She used to marvel at the differences of their skin tones; her skin was always quite a bit paler than his. But now that he hasn't been in the sun for so long, their skin tones are much closer to each other.

"Ash..." Sal places his other hand on top of hers. His hands have always been so warm..."I appreciate what you're doing. I really do. But this was _always_ how it was going to end." 

Ashley shakes her head. "Don't be so defeatist, Sal; that's not like you." She's pretty sure that could be seen as a red flag, but then again, it could be that everything that's gone wrong in the last year is making her numb to such things. She's focused on her goal right now; no one and nothing is going to get in her way. 

Not even Sal's uncharacteristically down attitude. 

"There was never any way I was going to get out of this. I'm okay with that." Sal pulls his hands away from hers, and she's struck by how much she now misses the warmth. "People know my story now. They can do whatever they want with it. I've at least done that." 

Ashley frowns. "What do you mean by that, exactly?" She's always known that Sal is mentally unwell; ever since she met him he's had to take medication for anxiety and depression. She wonders if this is another layer to his many mental health issues. 

It's not that she doesn't _want_ to believe him about the ghosts and the demons and whatnot, but it's still a lot to take in. The most that she can say is that _he_ definitely seems to believe what he's saying.

How had he _not_ gotten institutionalized with an insanity plea? The evidence is all _there,_ clear as day...

Sal doesn't expand on what he's talking about. Instead he asks "Are you still painting?"

She frowns. "Sal..."

"You were always so good at it. You and Larry." She hears him sigh behind his prosthetic. "I'd like to take it back up some time, but that's not something they offer here." He shrugs. "There's not much to do here at all. Work out, read...work out, read...that's about it for me." 

It looks like this is all Ashley's going to get out of him for now. She decides to take him up on it; talking to him at all is better than _nothing_. "What've you been reading?" 

"I've been catching up on the classics. Moby Dick, Pride and Prejudice...Re-read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and it's just as good as I remember." 

Ashley nods. "Cool; cool." She looks down at her own hands. "Gizmo's doing well," she finally tells him. 

"That's good. Does he still watch TV?"

Ashley manages to laugh. "Yeah, he does!" She goes on to tell him about all the other funny things the Maine Coon has been getting up to lately.

The hour passes entirely too quickly. When it's over, the guards have to physically pull Sal away from her, she's holding him so tight. 

An illogical, sleep-deprived part of Ashley's mind tells her that she should've held tighter as she watches the door close behind him.

Now that he's down a boyfriend and a roommate, Neil hasn't been able to afford his house on his own. That's just on _top_ of everything else he must be feeling lately. 

Ash had made an impulse decision, something she feels she's become known for among their ragtag bunch of misfits. She'd taken a job in Nockfell and decided to transfer her credits to the community college there, and all but told Neil that she was moving in with him. "You're gonna need help taking care of Gizmo!" she'd pointed out with a smile. He'd found it difficult to argue with that logic, so he'd given her Sal's old room. 

A few nights later, she runs into Maple at a gas station. 

"I've been living with my parents," she tells her on the walk to Neil's house. "It's nice of them, and I'm glad I had them to fall back on. Still, there's..." Maple is clutching her cup of coffee so tightly that the dark olive skin of her knuckles has turned shades paler. Without thinking, Ash reaches out to place a hand over them. "There's so many memories _there,_ too. The toys they bought for Soda are still there; they tried to hide them, but I still saw a few of them, anyway. And it's not just that; Dad was wearing that hat that always made her giggle, and Mom cooking for me. Probably hoped to comfort me, but all I could think of was how much Chug loved her cooking." 

Yet again, Ash makes an impulse decision, and invites her to stay the night. She gives Maple her bed while she sleeps on the couch; the next morning, she and Neil agree to let Maple stay in the spare bedroom, to which Maple agrees. "For the time being," she'd added.

Ash tries not to think about the fact that that room was supposed to be Larry's.

Despite everything, she comes to think of the place as 'home.' Slowly, her things start to crowd out Sal's; she finds herself hoping that he won't mind that his possessions are being moved to the basement. She makes a mental note to talk to him about that the next time she sees him; in the meantime, she mentions it in a letter she plans on sending to him.

While she's always liked Neil and Maple, she'd never been as close to them as she had been to Sal, Larry, and Todd. Like everything else, Ash finds _that_ changing, too. Particularly on nights where she has trouble sleeping, or wakes up cold and clammy from a nightmare. She's been getting those a lot lately; she has to wonder how Sal is doing in prison right now when he still has to deal with those.

One night, Ashley dreams of Soda and Chug. They turn to face her, and blood dribbles down from their empty sockets before merging into one grotesque puddle of flesh. She wakes with a start, nearly ready to vomit, so she decides to fix herself some ginger tea with lemon. It's good for nausea; Maple had sworn by it back when she'd been pregnant.

Neil is in the kitchen, holding a steaming mug of his own. "Couldn't sleep, either?" he asks, dark eyes soft with kindness.

She shakes her head, making her bedhead that much worse. "No; nightmare." She doesn't go into the details; she's pretty sure Neil has been upset enough lately, as it is.

"That's rough." 

" _Everything's_ rough lately." She watches the mug slowly spin in the microwave. The movement is oddly soothing. 

"Yeah...no kiddin'." Neil is staring at his mug, lost in thought. "I miss 'im," he finally says after a long pause.

"Me, too." Ash had met Todd back in elementary school; while they'd known of each others' existences, they didn't really become close until middle school, when she helped him with one of his art assignments. She'd suggested making the background around his stick figure darker so it would stand out more; all the while, she'd been amazed that the genius in her classes didn't actually know everything. In return, he'd been so grateful for her help. 

"You knew 'im longer than I did," says Neil. "Did he ever break down like this before?" 

She shakes her head. "Not that I know about."

Neil sighs, making the steam from his tea fog around his mouth. "You don't believe Sal, do you?" 

Ashley grimaces, taking a tentative sip of her tea. The bit of hot liquid slips down her throat, making warmth blossom in her core. "I don't know," she sighs. "The whole thing was weird, but _demonic possession?_ I’m just not convinced." She shakes her head. "Why? Do you?"

"I sure do."

Ashley blinks in surprise. That's news to her. "Really?"

"Most of my family is Christian; I practically grew up in church. Of _course_ I believe in demons." The haunted look on Neil's face is enough to make Ash step closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I tried talking to him; I hoped I'd get through to him, y'know? But that _look_ in his eyes..." Tears have gathered in the corners of his eyes. "I don't care what anyone says. That _thing_ in that padded cell isn't Todd."

Ashley had never been very spiritual, herself; she could count the times she'd been to church, including her grandmother's funeral, on one hand. But right now that doesn't seem to matter; this whole thing is clearly painfully real to Neil. She sets her mug on the kitchen counter to wrap her arms around him. 

"I know you weren't happy that I was on the opposite side of that trial." Neil's normally smooth, steady voice is shaky. 

Ashley shakes her head. "It's okay, Neil."

"Those bodies, all that blood..." Neil heaves a quivering sigh. "Todd was just fine when Sal left that night, and then when I saw him again..." Neil squeezes his eyes shut. Ashley watches as the skin between his eyebrows wrinkles; it's almost like the memory is physically hurting him. "It was too much. Right then I just...didn't want anything to do with Sal. I..." He whispers the next part, looking ashamed. "I blamed him for what happened to Todd. I know that makes no sense, but I did." 

"I understand. I never took it personally; I promise that no one else did, either." Really, how could they? It wasn’t just that Neil’s boyfriend was institutionalized; he’d lost every person in that building, too.

Neil pulls away from her. Ashley pretends not to notice him wipe his eyes on his sleeve. "Everything was goin' great before. How can so much shit go so wrong in just one night?" 

"I guess that's all it takes." When Ash drinks her tea again, she's disappointed to find that it's only lukewarm. 

The next Visiting Day is horrible. Sal isn't there.

When she asks one of the guards about it, Ashley is told that he tried to hang himself with his bed sheets just yesterday. He's currently recovering in the medical ward.

Despite the tightness gripping her chest and throat, she doesn't cry. _How long has it been now?_ she wonders; when is the last time she cried? It has to have been over a decade, at this point. 

Instead, she heads back home. There, she promptly vomits into the kitchen sink. Neil is at work and Maple is in one of her therapy sessions; thankfully the only one there to witness her freak-out is Gizmo. They're all taking turns in caring for the Maine Coon; he seems to be doing well, though she's pretty sure he misses Sal.

"That makes two of us, Baby," she tells him as soon as she's rinsed and wiped her mouth. 

It's now been a year since Sal was declared guilty; he'll be executed in two more. 

There's not that much she can do right at this very moment, but it's so painful to remember that she's slowly but surely running out of time.

Every once in a while, Ashley attends the Phelps' church. It isn't something she would've thought of on her own; it had been Maple's idea. Learning that her boyfriend and young daughter had been brutally murdered by another one of their friends had obviously scarred her; she'd tried everything to start healing. Self-help books and therapy seem to help, but so do the church services nearby. She'd told Ashley that the idea of a higher being looking after everything, taking care of everyone after certain things ended, was helping her cope.

Ashley isn't quite sure she agrees with her, but she _has_ found hope in a surprising place. 

"Travis," she greets. 

Travis Phelps has come a far way from the schoolyard bully he'd been in high school. Apparently something Sal had done or said back then had planted some seed in him, because the man she sees before her is kindly helping an elderly woman out of her seat. He smiles at her when he hears her voice.

"Ashley! Good to see you again." 

She doesn't think they're quite close enough to the point that Travis feels comfortable calling her 'Ash,' but it's nice that they can be so civil with each other now. She'd like to consider him a friend. "Likewise," she says, smiling back. 

"What brings you here today?" he asks. "You need spiritual guidance, or just a friend to talk to?" He of course means 'a friend who isn't close to the Sally Face Killer case;' he'd been at the trial, but Ashley has no idea when the two of them had last talked. 

"A little of both, actually," she says. Ashley is almost positive that neither is the sort that he's thinking of right now. "I'm sure you know what's on my mind right now."

Travis gives her a wry smile. "The same thing you've been thinking about for the last two years, right?"

"Mm-hmm." She crosses her legs, letting one ankle rest on the top of her knee. "You know what _I_ was thinking and feeling during that whole debacle. What were _you_ thinking at the trial?" she asks. "About everything Sal said."

"I believed him."

Ash's eyebrows furrow. "Really? You, too?" 

"You know I'm religious; Dad beat the fear of the devil into me from the minute I was born." He's smiling as if he's just said something hilarious. Ashley doesn't laugh. 

"That's not funny, Travis."

He shrugs. "I know it's not. It's how I cope nowadays." 

Ash nods, feeling guilty and awkward. "Fair enough." When they'd been teenagers she'd never been able to muster up any empathy or sympathy for Travis; Sal told her that he was convinced something was going on at home, but all she'd been able to see was a bully being cruel to her disabled friend with a dead mother. As far as she'd been concerned, Travis might as well have been kicking puppies.

She knows better now; of _course_ Sal had been right. He usually was. 

"I've been to his house before." Travis picks at a thread on his t-shirt. "The minute I stepped on that property, all the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I didn't know what it was or what was causing it; I just knew there was something evil there."

"The place _did_ always feel off," Ash admits. Granted, the whole incident with Mrs. Packerton might have fueled those feelings. 

She still can't believe Sal told that reporter about The Bologna Incident (TM). They'd never officially agreed to take it to the grave with them, but this was the first time any of them had told someone else about it. She's tempted to ask Travis about it, about how he must have felt learning that the school bologna he’d loved so much had been made of human meat, but he starts talking again.

"Not that it matters much now." Travis's previously cheerful demeanor gives way to something more quietly somber. "I don't think that would've been enough to get Sal found innocent."

"No. I guess not." Her fingertips dig into the worn denim of her capris. The black nail polish is beginning to chip off; she's been so focused on other, more important things that she hasn't touched it up. 

"I had a huge crush on him, you know. Back in high school."

The confession is enough to break Ashley out of her thoughts. "No shit?"

Travis lightly nudges her side. "We're in a church, Ashley." He seems to be half-joking, but Ash apologizes anyway.

"So _that_ was why," she says with a smile. "You were too old to pull his pigtails, so you had to find other ways to do it, huh?"

Travis scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Well, Jeez...when you put it _that_ way..."

Ash giggles for what feels like the first time in forever. 

"I mean...it wasn't _just_ that. My home life wasn't great, and I was working through a lot of shit." He gives Ash an embarrassed look. "I took most if it out on him, but I was pretty awful to all of you. I'm sorry for calling you a bitch."

Ashley scoffs. "Please. Back in university I worked at a garage; I was the only woman there. You really think 'bitch' is the worst thing I've ever been called?"

Travis clearly wasn't expecting that answer. "That... _really_ doesn't make me feel any better..."

It's her turn to shrug. "It wasn't supposed to." Sal had once told her that he'd had to deal with much worse bullies than Travis before he'd met her. She remembers feeling the same way; it hadn't made her feel any better back then, either. "Anyway, we were kids; we all did and said things we shouldn't have. I forgive you." 

The smile that Travis gives her is small, but genuine.

Once the tears start, they don't stop. 

They don't stop on her way back to her bike, or when she drives away. 

Ashley means to go back to the house, but somewhere along the way, she turns into the driveway of what was once Addison Apartments. Her vision is blurred as she climbs the rungs of the treehouse ladder; she wonders if she'll fall and break her neck. Will it really matter if she does? If that happens, at least the pain she's experiencing will end.

Then again, she now knows she'll just come back as another ghost. What good will she be, then?

Once up there, she looks around her. She sees old cassettes; tapes she and Larry had made during middle school are among them. Larry's old paintings; she'd always wondered if he'd go on to be famous. A chance he’d now never get.

Her face crumples as her eyes finally land on the window. Sal had told her that he loved that view.

Now he would never be able to appreciate it again.

Hoarse, broken sobbing fills the air as she curls up on the old floorboards of the treehouse, where she wraps her arms around her knees and buries her face in them. It takes a while for Ashley to realize that the noise is coming from her. 

Over the sounds she makes against the fabric of her torn capris, she hears the whooshing of wind and the wet sounds of gore moving against itself. 

"Ash?" 

Larry's voice should soothe her, she thinks. It should comfort her, now that she's heard it for the second time in the three years since he killed himself. 

Instead, it makes her angry. "Oh, you show up _once,_ and now suddenly you can't leave me _alone?_ " she spits. "Where the _Hell_ have you been this whole time? What, was I not worth showing _up_ for? Was _Sal_ not worth showing up for?" With those words, Ashley realizes just how closely anger and sadness are related. In her grief-stricken state, words born from anger and frustration that's been building up for the last three years are spilling from her lips, and she isn't sure they're ever going to stop. "Why didn't you come to me sooner? Would it have killed you _again_ to show up when it would've actually _fucking mattered?"_

She looks up. The expression on her friend's washed-out, transparent face isn't hurt or angry; just sad.

Ashley takes a deep breath. "I didn't get there in time." Her eyes and nose sting as she continues. "Sal...he...he's..." She breaks down sobbing all over again. She's aware of how ridiculous she must look; tears and snot running down her face, as if she were five years old with skinned knees again, bawling like a newborn infant. She's pretty sure she's the very picture of the 'Hysterical Woman' she used to see in those old movies she'd had to watch in her Film Studies class.

It's _amazing_ how little she cares. 

She hears the sound again; the sound of a ghost disapparating and apparating. She's too distraught to be frightened or fascinated, though she can't help but gasp when she feels something abnormally cold on her shoulder. Autumn in Nockfell is usually pretty chilly, but _this_ is something entirely new. 

Ashley is able to see more clearly when she wipes the tears from her eyes, only for even more to gather there. Here, Ashley can see Larry's ghost far more clearly. His skin had always been a bit paler than his mom's, probably due to the fact that his dad was white. But here, it's practically a sheet of paper. Dark veins that she doesn't remember him having before creep up his neck and jaw. His large eyes, which she'd always thought were a nice shade of dark brown, now glow an eerie white. She looks down, where she sees that one of his hands is on top her shoulder. 

_That's_ what feels so cold, she absently notes.

"I'm so sorry, Ash." 

Her shoulders are shaking; she isn't sure she isn't going to break apart at the seams with how hard she's crying. "I did everything I could," she's sobbing, "and in the end, it didn't matter. _None_ of it fucking mattered!" Ashley buries her face in her hand, trying to curl in on herself even more. "What did any of it even mean?" She demands that last part of her question, not necessarily of Larry, but of anything or anyone out there that might give her an answer.

"It means you're a good person who loves your friends, Ash. That you'll never stop fighting for them."

Ashley gives Larry a watery look and sniffles, wiping her face with her glove. It's not terribly ladylike, but she's pretty sure Larry isn't going to care. God knows _she_ doesn't right now. "Why did you do it?" she asks, quiet and broken. "Why did you kill yourself?"

"I wasn't myself then. In the past, I'd wonder...'What would it really be like if I was gone? Would anyone care?' Bullshit like that, you know? But I never seriously thought about going through with it. Not until that night." Despite the fact that he's dead and really has no need for things like blinking anymore, Ashley notices that his ghost still does that. Maybe what makes humans _human_ is so deeply ingrained that it stays in them even after they die, she thinks. "I think _that's_ when all that shit went down; when the cult's darkness or whatever started taking over the building, right? Because _no one_ in that house was acting normal after that shit hit." The pitch white of his irises flick down in thought. "Plus I'd been drinking. Sal didn't touch that whiskey in the tree house; that was all me. It _is_ a depressant, so yeah; that probably didn't help."

Ashley suspects that her eyes must look like green dinner plates beneath her side-swept bangs right now. "It's the cult," she says softly. " _They're_ the ones who are responsible for all of this."

He shrugs. "Basically."

She wipes the back of her hand across her eyes, disgusted by the sight of mascara staining the back of her gloves. "Why were they even doing all this?" She's whispering now. "They want to...what, destroy the world? For _what? Why?"_

"I don't know, Ash. I really don't." 

"Do you think they're still around?" She glares at her knees. "Do you think all of this was worth it for them? All these lives _ruined?_ " Everyone who lived here for is dead now. She's lost four of her close friends from high school; three to death, one to some kind of demonic possession, all because of these people. It all feels over for her, but logically she knows it isn't. Todd still needs help.

"Pretty sure they are, Dude; nutjobs like that don't just give up that easy." 

Ashley's stopped crying for now, only because of the pain she suddenly feels in the front part of her skull and the dryness she feels around her eyes. There'll be more tears to cry, she's sure, but now that the worst of it has passed, she figures that they can wait for now. "What do you think I should do?" 

Larry's ghost shakes his head. "I'm gonna talk to Miss Rosenberg; see if she might know something. Right now, though, I think you should take it easy." Larry had always dressed and acted like a punk, ever since Ashley had known him. One might have almost been able to believe it, if they didn't look at his eyes. She'd called him 'Bambi' a few times during middle school, only stopping when he wouldn't speak to her anymore. Right now those large eyes are boring a hole in her soul. "You did everything you could; you keep goin' like this, you'll work yourself to death. The world of the Living still need you, you know."

Ash can't bring herself to smile, so she merely nods. She closes her eyes and leans forward a bit; it might be her imagination, but she could swear that she can feel a chill against her forehead where Larry's ghost's head is touching it. "I miss you," she whispers. "We _all_ do. If everything with Sal hadn't happened, we would've thrown you a better funeral." In the midst of so much chaos, she’d never once stopped to wonder how Larry must have been feeling. Guilt weighs down on her heart as she wonders if she might have been able to stop him from killing himself. If only she’d _known_ …if only she’d _asked_ …

"I know, Dude. It's cool."

When Ashley opens her eyes again, she's alone in the treehouse once again.

The house is no longer empty when Ashley returns to it. Both Maple and Neil are sitting on the couch in the living room. Maple's face is buried in her hands; her shoulders shake slightly with each quiet sob. Neil is clinging to Gizmo as if he were a child hugging a stuffed animal; the creature isn't even protesting the extreme amount of overstimulation that must be causing him.

Ash would cry right along with them, but for now she's all out of tears. She kisses the top of Neil's head as she passes him and sits down next to Maple, where she wraps her arms around her. 

None of them says anything for what feels like hours. The silence is broken by a bitter chuckle from Neil. "You know," he says, setting Gizmo down where he curls up in his lap, "I think we're the only people on Earth mourning him right now." 

Ash gives Maple a squeeze, prepared to hold her for as long as she needs. 

The thought takes hold of her slowly but steadily, like a spark landing on a pile of twigs and leaves. "No," she says softly. "Not the only ones…"

They're all in pain right now, but life is going to continue for them. _I'm down right now,_ Ashley thinks as she runs her fingers through Maple's hair, _but tomorrow I'm going to get up and keep moving._

Travis gives her a sympathetic look as she enters the church. "Thought I might see you today," he says, patting the seat next to him. Ashley takes him up on the offer and sits down next to him. "How are you holding up?"

She shrugs. "Okay as I _can_ be doing, I guess." 

He nods sympathetically. "I'm happy to hear that. If you're _not_ okay, though, then that's fine; you know that, right?"

She nods impatiently. "Yeah, I do." She looks him in the eye. "Travis, you're a man of God, aren't you?"

Travis actually looks a little offended. "We've known each other since elementary school, Ashley; I'd hoped you would know me well enough to know the answer to that question by now."

Ordinarily she'd banter back with him, show him that she appreciated the joke. But right now she only has one thought.

Has the answer been under her nose this whole time? Had her own lack of belief prevented her from even entertaining such a notion? If helping Todd is really as easy as this, she’s going to kick herself.

"What do you know about exorcisms?”

Ashley expects Travis to laugh, but he doesn’t; he gives her a long, serious look.

“What do you want to know?”


End file.
